


Lady Theresa

by IrisPerea2004



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternative Magic, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, IN SPACE!, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Original Fiction, Outer Space, Short Chapters, Spaceships, Swords & Sorcery, This will be long, but that's me, but the overall work will be pretty long, has sort of 80s cult classic vibe to me, i'm not sure which it'll end up as, inspired by gloryhammer and watching too many old movies, please just try it, space fantasy, there might be romance but i won't say, this went from, to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisPerea2004/pseuds/IrisPerea2004
Summary: Theresa's life is turned on its head when her father is spell-poisoned and suddenly she is a suspect. Exiled, stripped of her rank and under the bounds of a spell laid on her by the Justices, she sets out to prove her innocence and heal her father.(posting here because, as weird as it sounds, it is the site I have most regular access to)
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character





	1. Chapter 1

A swan-white ship, modeled after the sea-sailing ships of yore, cut through the emptiness of space that separated each of the starhome's planets. Broad sails billowed above the deck, full of silent starlight.  
A giant of a man stood in the carven prow, a coronet of fine gold and bright crimson gems on his brow. His coal-black beard was cropped close to his stubborn jaw, and his hair fell in short ringlets around his face.

The ship approached the frail-seeming wall of amaranthine energy that coiled lazily through the void. Thin enough that anyone could see the faint stars of far clusters, and yet so powerful an armada could throw itself against it without a scratch. 

"Open," the giant commanded, his resonant baritone thrumming through the frail bubble of air that surrounded the craft. It obeyed, and the tiny craft sailed through the shifting gate in the shell. 

Another craft hovered just outside, a grey barge-craft, heaped with merchant's wares. A good number of people made themselves suddenly busy, as if not wanting to appear idle in front of a stranger, even a Gatekeeper of a starhome.

The giant raised his hand in greeting and beckoned them through the shield.

The great doors to Lord Leoran's hold swung open, and a young man dashed in, his elder sister hot on his heels. 

"Father!" they cried with one voice. 

"Be ashamed!" a woman's voice rapped out, and stopped them both in their tracks. "Show your father the respect a star-lord deserves!"

Abashed, both bowed, their movements rushed and hasty. The tall woman watched them, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her dark eyes. 

"Good enough," she said, the silver streaks in her hair gleaming like steel against her earth-brown skin. "Now what is so important you feel it necessary to run back to the hold?"

The young man opened his mouth, but his elder sister trod on his foot, eager to be the first to speak.

"Sir Korran has returned, father," she said. "He requests an audience."

The old man on the dais smiled, his face as sunny as a summer morning. As if in response, the hum from crystalline throne seemed to subtly change its melody. 

"When have we ever refused him?" he said. "Theresa, go to him. Invite to the hold."

She bowed again, and then twice to her stately mother before dashing out of the long hall. Her brother wheeled around to follow, but Lord Leoran held up his hand in a commanding gesture.

"Wait, Jerome," he said. "I need to speak with you."


	2. Chapter 2

Sir Korran stood at the spacedocks, watching as the bare-chested dockworkers secured his steel-grey cargo barge in place. The wind from the cold, jagged-toothed mountains whisked through the capital's streets; playing with his dark hair and tossing banners hither and thither. Beneath his heavy brow, sharp eyes darted about, ensuring that none stole even petty trifles. He was fond of saying his reputation scared off many would-be pirates and his face scared off the planetside thieves.

Many women scurried past on their various errands, shouldering past each other in the plazas, many bearing baskets on their scarved heads. Colours swirled through the streets as pennants bearing the blazonry of Lord Leoran snapped in the brisk breeze.

"Make way!" someone shouted. "Way for the Princeling Theresa!"

A great, white-coated wolf-beast came plunging through the streets, obviously making its own way, despite the herald's loud cries. The dark-skinned princeling sat high on its back. "Ho, Sir Korran," she called, her voice boisterously loud, even over the sudden hubbub her appearance had caused. "My father greets you, and calls you to our hold!"

A smile tugged at the corner of the old soldier's down-turned mouth.

"How could I refuse?" he asked, bowing deeply. "I am honoured to accept, Princeling Theresa."

The long banquet hall stretched beneath the mountain the hold was built into.

Light flooded from tall slit-windows where battle-mages would be stationed in wartime. The silken wood groaned beneath the endless variety of food that the kitchens had produced for the event.

Four-eyed boardogs sat along the table; special fare served only for guests which had steadily dwindled. Delicate pastries filled with sharp-tasting herbs and piquant fruits tempted the unwary. Loaves of crusty bread sat between bowls heaped with red-veined vegetables and star-darkened fruit.

Theresa paced through the dusty, long-unused corridors above the hall, her boots leaving prints in the grimy floor. Her cloak fluttered behind her like an angel's dove-grey wings.

Something felt... off, somehow. As if a violent storm gathered at the edges of her vision. Her skin prickled with unease.

Outside the windowslit, the sky was darkening as the planet turned away from the star. Theresa braced herself on the white-veined stone, her eyes unfocused. Without realizing it, she began to gnaw on the inside of her cheek.

"Theresa," a voice, heavily accented with Devastation drawl, called in surprise from the shadows. "What are you doing up here?"

Korran. Of course he'd be here.

Her fingers tightened on the stone. "Nothing," she said, a bit too quickly. "Just thinking."

He dropped his eyes to the ground. Of course he would know, she thought bitterly. He always could read her like a book.

"Theresa, I'm sorry," he offered, oddly gentle words coming from the brutal face. "I really do wish that things were different."

"You made your opinions very clear the last time we spoke," she said, her voice sharp. "Why are we going over this again?"

"I wanted to apologize," he said, defensiveness beginning to creep into his stance. "You didn't give me a chance last time."

"In your own words, mysir Korran," she said, anger struggling with sadness. "We can only ever be friends. Do you want to go down to dinner?"

Korran shrugged, his mouth turning down even further into its permanent scowl.

"Of course, Princeling."

Dinner was a grand affair, full of eloquent wordplay and riddle-talk. Theresa ignored it all, and focused on the food, her mood soured by her brief talk with Korran. She had been given a year to come to terms with the argument that had passed between them on the eve of his last departure, hell had even been happy to see the lump!

 _He doesn't seem to be over it yet,_ she told herself, and a burst of savage happiness bloomed under her collarbone. She stabbed her meat with more force than was probably required.

Candles burned low. People began to leave the table, and return to their beds. Theresa remained at the table, even as the servants cleared away the last of the food.

The feeling was still there.

The black tablecloth crumpled in Theresa's fist. That damned niggle itched at the back of her mind, like an insect nibbling comfortably away, right where she couldn't reach.

She rested her head on her arms, trying not to groan with frustration. It was probably just seeing Korran again. It hadn't started until his barge had arrived; and maybe it would go away when he left.


	3. Chapter 3

"Princeling Theresa," someone called, shaking her shoulder insistently. "Princeling, wake up. It's your father."

"Go away," Theresa muttered, nestling her head under her arms. "It's not morning yet."

"Princeling, come quick. It's Lord Leoran."

It would be both poetic and oversimplified to say that sentence alone managed to jerk her instantly out of her doze. It took a full few seconds for the servant's words to register. Even still, she didn't leap out of her chair.

"Father?" she mumbled, pawing sleep out of her eyes. "What about him? What's going on?"

"I don't know," the young servant said, her eyes wide with stress and fright. "Lady Kivele found him and sent me to you."

Theresa's mind began clicking together. "Mother?" she said, pushing herself up from the table. "Wh-where?"

"In his chambers," the maid replied promptly.

"Of course," Theresa said. Her temper had already been shortened by a number of factors, and this truly wasn't helping. "Isn't that where he sleeps?"

The serving-maid shook her head. "Lady Kivele said it was a poison."

Theresa all but ran along the cold, grey halls, her dinner-garb rippling like liquid shadow around her ankles. They were not empty, as they should have been at this hour, but nor were they swirling with the hubbub of activity that she knew would soon fill them.

"Mother!" Theresa cried, bursting into her parent's rooms in whirl of nervous energy. Jerome jerked from his place by the bedside, his eyes glazed with fear. His father's hand thudded onto the bedspread, obviously just released by her red-headed brother.

Lady Kivele looked sterner than ever, yet also pale and drained. "Theresa," she murmured and caught her daughter in a brief, uncharacteristic embrace. "Oh thank stars you're all right."

"Mother," Theresa said, feeling confused by just about everything that was going on; not the least by the embrace. "Is Father-?"

"He still breathes, but only because I got here before the poison spread. Thank god for what little healing I was taught."

"What was it?" Theresa asked, kneeling beside the bedside. Lord Leoran's hand was frighteningly clammy against her warm and almost violently alive palm.

"Poison. A magical poison at that," their mother said grimly. "It wasn't in the food," she added quickly, seeing her son pale visibly. Theresa didn't really have the complexion for that, but she was not guarded against the urge to vomit up everything she had eaten.

"Why?" Jerome asked. "What could possibly be a motive for... for..." his words failed and he gesture vaguely at his barely breathing father.

"Jerome, you need to stay here," Kivele instructed, and instinctively her children stiffened. It was the tone of command, when the military part of their mother's mind came to the fore. "Theresa. Go find Korran and bring him here."

 _Korran? Why?_ Theresa wanted to ask, but it would have done her little good. It was not wise to question her mother's orders.

"Run as fast as you can," Kivele instructed. "Leave your steed-- they attract far too much attention. You know where he usually camps?"

Theresa was grateful for the dark skin that hid the treacherous flush. "Yes, of course."

"Good. Now go."


	4. Chapter 4

Theresa ran through the green-leafed valley, heedless of the rocks that bit like teeth into her ill-clothed feet, heedless of the lashing thorns that raked her unprotected calves. Her breath searing her chest, hot as starfire in her lungs. 

The valley dipped abruptly into an overgrown streambed, where the rippling water foamed like bright pearls as she splashed heedlessly through it, leaving traces of blood floating through the playful bubbles. Traces of pink shot through the sky, lighting on the 

_Almost there,_ she thought. _I must be almost there._

Coils of lustrous black flashed through the green, and snagged on the claw-like hands of an ancient tree, wizened and bent by the years on that hillside. She barely stopped to untangle herself and then was off again, her legs screaming with exertion.

There! There was the little copse of coarse-needled trees, enclosed on one side by a sheer face of smooth stone. A spring bubbled out at the foot of the cliff, laughing like a baby playing in the emerald grass. On any other occasion, Theresa would have been spellbound. Now she could only appreciate being able to pause her mad run from the palace.

A tall, broad-shouldered man dropped from one of the trees, concern and puzzlement warring on his harshly carved face.

"Theresa? What's going--?"

She caught him around the shoulders and pulled him into a rough embrace that caught both by surprise. 

"It's Father," she said, her breath coming in great heaving sobs. "I don't know what's wrong! Korran, please, I--Mother needs you."

Lady Kivele was ashen beneath the darkness of her skin. The strain of keeping the spelled poison from reaching her husband's heart and brain was far more taxing than she could afford to let on. Jerome struggled valiantly to aid his mother, but his talent for healing was slim.

The corridors were a flurry of quiet activity as the Lady's Handmaidens canvassed the castle for any other victims. The citydwellers outside were beginning to go about their own business for the day, ignorant of the drama unfolding inside the heart of the proud citadel. 

Korran had far outstripped the already exhausted Theresa, and left her, by her command, beside a stream. It was barely past sunup by the time he reached the castle and was admitted by one of the Handmaidens through a side entrance known to few.


	5. Chapter 5

Lady Kivele stared at the body of her husband, fatigue dimming her eyes and stress tugging her back from the brink of a doze. Leoran _looked_ almost dead; the unnatural pallor greying his skin and sending it cold and clammy beneath her touch. Jerome was outside, his nervous energy put to better use combing the castle than waiting at his father's bedside.

Word had spread quickly, prompting a rush to the Lord's bedchambers. Kivele had quickly checked this flood of people and threw them all, sometimes literally, back out the door again. Only Korran had stayed, the grimness about his bright eyes all too telling for such a wise and seasoned commander as the Lady Kivele.

He told her that he knew of several poisons that could have such an effect, few of which could be obtained without resources beyond the reach of many. All were spelled.

So. _Powerful enemies,_ thought the Lady Kivele. Then: _And you can't find an antidote if you don't know the poison._

Korran had removed himself from the bedchamber; his role temporarily over. Part of him wanted to find Theresa and Jerome and make sure they were all right; for his own peace of mind and mostly for something to do. The old soldier-for-hire was itching for something to do, anything to do.

He went to the kitchen instead. Kivele had said both her children were all right and he believed her.

Theresa was exhausted and limping, but felt guilty in seeking out a healer when her father was ailing, perhaps dying. Instead, she cleaned her lacerated feet, and put on clean shoes; this time of far sturdier make. She breathed no word of her injury to anyone.

She kept Jerome close all through that day, waiting for news from their mother.


End file.
